Issue Seven May 2010
Nathanael O'Reilly
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A dual Australian-Irish citizen, Nathanael O'Reilly was born in Warrnambool and raised in Ballarat, Brisbane and Shepparton. He has lived in England, Ireland, Germany, Ukraine and the United States, where he currently resides. His poetry has appeared in numerous journals, including Antipodes, Harvest, Windmills, LiNQ, Postcolonial Text, Transnational Literature, Prosopisia, and Blackmail Press. He is the author of the chapbook Symptoms of Homesickness (Picaro Press, 2010).
Driving in Texas I. A woman pushes a baby In a stroller down the centre Of a busy four-lane highway As traffic speeds by on either side. II. A black pick-up truck overloaded With tools, bricks and buckets Weaves in and out of its lane On a narrow county road. III. Three African-Americans kneel In the grass facing away from the road, Their hands cuffed behind their backs As cops search their Cadillac. IV. A helmetless motorcyclist wearing Shorts and t-shirt hurtles down The freeway at ninety miles per hour Zigzagging through heavy traffic. V. Five white flower-adorned crosses Ranging in descending order From daddy-sized to baby-sized Testify in the grass beside the highway. VI. A roadside canvas marquee bears A hand painted sign proclaiming Holy Spirit Revival 7:30 nightly 24/7 prayer Too Young We killed time at the empty skate park In Matamata, where I pretended I had A board, running up the quarterpipe Chucking one-eighties, sliding along Steel rails, simulating ollies and kickflips While your mum toured hobbit holes. Too young to be embarrassed, You thought I was hilarious. Worn out, we retired to a main street café Where we drank chocolate milk and a latte While sharing an Anzac biscuit, Then drove until we found a playground. You joined in with the Maori kids, Too young to know or care about race Or nationality, rolling down an embankment Into a pile of crunchy June leaves While I exchanged nods with the other dads. When your mum returned from the tour We took the narrow backroads in the rain To Te Awamutu, hoping in vain to find A monument to the Finns. We had to settle For Waikato Draught at the Commercial Hotel. You sipped lemonade, too young to understand Why we cared about music from New Zealand.